Of Smokeless Fire by A.A. Jafri (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📕

servants’ quarters, if it is okay with Barrister Sahib and Begum Sahiba. Please send my salaam to them. How is Mehrun? She is a hot thing, isn’t she? If I were not a bhangi, I would marry her in an instant. Too bad you can’t marry her either. If you see her, tell her I still want her to be my heroine. I hope Athanni doesn’t rob you any more. Did I tell you that some months before I left for Iran, I saw Athanni in a cinema watching a nude filim? I confronted him and he got angry at me and ran away in a taxi.

Please write to me and tell me about everything back home. You will be surprised to learn that although I hated that country of yours, I still miss it. My address is written at the back of the envelope.

If you could send me Mehrun’s address in your letter, I would be grateful to you.

Your servant,

Joseph Solomon

Joseph had signed his name in English. Glad to receive his letter, Mansoor decided to reply to him soon, as he was not sure when he would see his friend next. He called Mehrun at her office, keen to tell her about Joseph’s letter, but she was not there. So he left a message and hung up.

*

Two weeks before his bank was nationalized, Alvi officially resigned as the chairman and managing director of the High Finance Bank, much to the dismay of his colleagues. They felt betrayed, and made it sound as if Alvi, the captain, had abandoned a sinking ship and used the only lifeboat available to flee alone, leaving his fellow passengers to the sharks. Their reaction was to shun the man. Avoiding him was their way of shaming him. Mehrun, of course, knew about his planned resignation well before everyone else, but she had still nurtured a hope that he would change his mind. Without his protection, she was afraid to continue working at the bank alone. Her meteoric rise had created enemies, and her close ties with Alvi had made people whisper. But with Alvi at the helm, she never had to worry about anything. The fear of nationalization had made most people jittery; the tension levels were at an all-time high, but what flustered Mehrun more was the possibility of working amid angry wolves after Alvi left.

When Alvi finally announced his intention to resign, Mehrun busied herself in organizing a farewell party for him. But the party had to be discreet; the top bosses had to be kept in the dark since Alvi had already become a pariah. Throwing a farewell party for a deserter was tantamount to committing career suicide, nevertheless, Mehrun went ahead with the preparations.

A day before the party, however, she felt sick. But skipping it was out of the question. It would be a let-down for everyone, and she would never do that. She took four Aspro tablets before heading to work and psyched herself for the evening. Alvi had unfinished business to attend to, so he spent his last few days working till late, wrapping things up. On the day of the party, after the other bosses were gone, Mehrun tricked Alvi to come down to the basement of the bank. The surprise party touched him. Gratified that his staff still cared about him despite his lame-duck status, he thanked them in a cracked voice. He was deeply moved by Mehrun, who took the risk to organize the whole thing.

Compared to the farewell bashes of past eras, this one turned out to be a tame affair. Dancing, drinking and debauchery were obviously missing. The psychedelic index, a term coined by Alvi, did not rise above zero, but then he had never cared for frivolity. After giving a heartfelt speech, he came to Mehrun, thanked her and renewed his job offer. But how could she leave her real job for a pipe dream? How could she abandon her father alone in this behemoth of a city? Despite her emotional remoteness with her father, she wanted to stay close to him. They had no other relatives in the town, no family, and Jumman had no friends either. The Kashana was the only place where he functioned like a normal person, where he found purpose, meaning and happiness. Perhaps, if he shifted there and stayed as a live-in gardener, she could leave him without feeling guilty. Could she ask Mansoor to make that arrangement?

‘Please think again about my offer.’

Mehrun smiled stingily.

‘If you want, I can ask your father,’ Alvi suggested.

‘He will never allow his unmarried daughter to live alone in a foreign country.’

‘Then get married!’ Alvi suggested.

Mehrun laughed and said, ‘Yes, it is that easy, especially for a girl of my background.’

‘What is wrong with a girl of your background?’

Alvi knew everything about her background and the societal barriers erected like the reinforced steel around the bank’s vault, but he still lingered on for an explanation, as if to keep the conversation running.

‘Alvi Sahib, who do you think is going to marry me? For the men of my world, I am too liberated, too educated; I earn my own living; I am independent; I support my father. As for men from the other world, I do not even exist. Who is going to marry a daughter of a har . . . a gardener?’

She stopped to collect her thoughts, and after a split-second break continued, ‘Besides, my father cannot provide any dowry for me.’

Alvi’s persistent questions exasperated her, and her vigorous explanations caught people’s attention. Realizing that people were eavesdropping on their conversation, she changed the subject.

Alvi stayed with her till the party ended, even helping her clean the place, which discomfited her more. With the cleaning done, he offered to take her home. It was too dangerous to use public transportation at that hour, so Mehrun accepted his offer. The night was starry and silent. They sat in Alvi’s Mercedes convertible, which cruised smoothly on the dark, deserted road towards Clifton